Chapter 20
TWENTY
“Hands up!”
Here we fucking go.
My wrench hits the concrete as I push up from the Harley Davidson I’m working on and lift my hands in the air with a sigh. RCMP and local police flood the garage and office with guns aimed at us as they shout and bang on doors, making a fucking entrance.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter when one of them sweeps his arm across my bench, sending tools and bike parts crashing to the floor. He doesn’t even look at me, but I catch the smirk tugging at his lips.
Fucker.
Donnie appears from the office, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“So what is it this time?” I ask in a low voice as he walks over to me.
He sighs, glancing over his shoulder toward the front office where his sergeant is rifling through receipts like a man possessed.
“John got a tip about a 2022 Bentley moved up here from Connecticut.” His gaze finds mine, heavy with the weight of what that means.
We both know that car sold over the weekend, straight into the hands of one of New Brunswick’s untouchable elites.
“He won’t say where this information came from, but he says the name Basin Kings came up. ”
My eyes slide past Donnie to John as he slams down a pile of paper, sending receipts scattering across the desk, and fucking everything up.
Those receipts are legit, from our regular customers we serve in this town for oil changes, repairs, and sales.
Nothing dirty ever touches that desk. We don’t have a paper trail for anything auction-related, and even if we did, it sure as fuck wouldn’t be sitting out in the main office for him to paw through. We’re not fucking idiots.
“So he’s looking for something he knows he won’t find,” I say.
Donnie exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “No. He’s looking for anything. A wrong invoice, a missing signature… any excuse to get you in cuffs. He’s done waiting. You and Kurt are both coming in today so he can dig deeper.”
“Make sure I get a north-facing cell this time,” I say, still glaring at John. Fucker put me in a west-facing cell a couple months ago. Worst sleep of my life because the bed was facing the wrong way, so my dreams were all wrong. And for some reason they bolt the beds to the floor. Idiots.
Donnie furrows his brow and shakes his head, watching some officers pat down Caz, Dom, and Cory. “Not a hotel, Roy.”
“Fuck you, then,” I murmur, shifting my gaze back through the office window. Kurt’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching John tear through our paperwork.
Kurt meets my eyes through the glass, and I tap my wrist as I continue to hold my hands over my head, signalling that cuffs are coming.
He gives me a small nod before turning back to John to wait out the storm.
But fuck that. I’m not just going to stand here and watch them rip apart our garage again. Last week, it took hours to put everything back together. And who knows what they’re doing to the clubhouse out back.
So I step forward, grab one of the RCMP officers by the front of his shirt, and punch him in the face.
“Fuck!” the Mountie yells, clutching his nose as blood pours down his face.
“Don’t touch my tools,” I say simply, placing my hands behind my back as two RCMP surge forward and grab me by the arms, then slap handcuffs on me.
Kurt steps out from the office behind John, one eyebrow cocked at me.
John stops in front of me, looking up with that self-satisfied smirk he’s worn since the day he rolled into town.
I look down at him, smirking at the little asshole with the big man syndrome. “Hi, Johnny.”
“Are you a fucking idiot?” he snaps. “What are you trying to prove here, Roy?”
I furrow my brow as I glance around at the chaos.
“What am I trying to prove? Johnny boy, you’re the one storming in here and swinging your little dick around, tearing through my garage like you think you’re going to find something.
How often do we need to tell you and your men…
” I lean down until I’m eye-to-eye with him.
One of the Mounties presses on my shoulder to push me back, but I stay right where I am.
“We’re just a motorcycle club and a mechanic shop. And don’t. Touch. My. Tools.”
His face hardens, and he jerks his chin toward the cruisers outside. “Take him in.”
I straighten and slap on a smile. “I think you just like having me around. You know, Johnny, you could just ask to hang out.”
He just turns and heads straight for his car, as the two Mounties push me towards another one.
“But, John, you haven’t finished your raid!” I call after him. Then I snicker and look at one of the officers to my right. “See, he just wants me. Knew it.”
“You fucking idiot,” Donnie mutters, shoving one officer aside so he can take my arm himself. He grips tight, steering me to his car. “He’s not letting this, or you, go. Not until he gets something that sticks.”
“Then get me my north-facing cell,” I tell him flatly, staring him down as he pushes me into the backseat of the car.
Donnie sighs, pausing with his hand on the door as he glances back at Kurt. He’s standing in one of the bay doors, watching me with his arms crossed, and a look that clearly says ‘don’t fuck this up’.
When Donnie looks back at me, he lets out another exasperated sigh. “Guess it’s just you carrying this one.”
“Guess so.” I shrug, settling back against the seat.
He shuts the door and walks over to Kurt, and I watch as they trade low words. By the time Donnie slides behind the wheel, Kurt’s got his phone to his ear with his gaze still fixed on the car.
“Kurt’s calling your lawyer now,” Donnie mutters as he starts the engine.
I lean my head back against the seat with a nod.
Yvette’s a fucking shark. She’s pulled us out of worse fires than this, plus John has nothing, and he knows it.
I’ll spend a day or two, max, in a cell for breaking some idiot’s nose.
And I’ll be back fixing up bikes and fucking my professor in no time.
A water pipe ticks behind the wall as I stare up at the ceiling, the soft sound seeming loud in this quiet space.
I shift on the too-short bed, with the thin-as-fuck mattress and a pillow that feels like a sheet of cardboard shoved into a case.
Not that I expect comfort in a holding cell, but for fuck’s sake, some people are taller than six feet, and one flat pillow is a joke with the punchline aimed at my neck.
But at least my cell is north-facing.
“Alder.”
Donnie’s voice cuts through the quiet as he rounds the corner. I turn my head to look at him as he leans casually against the bars, though the solemn set of his face tells me this is not a casual visit.
“What?” I ask, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
“You have a visitor.”
“Alright,” I answer slowly. “And Kurt is pissed, I’m assuming? You know I can handle that. He’s my uncle, and I’m not some fragile piece of shit.”
He shakes his head with a slow exhale. “Frank Becker.”
That name has me on my feet in an instant, crossing the cell until I’m standing in front of him at the bars. “What?”
Why the fuck is the president of the Dominion Sons here…
Donnie only nods. “Want me to send him away?”
“No,” I say sharply. “Send that fucker in.” Then I narrow my eyes at him. “And how exactly does he know I’m in here?”
Donnie glares at me. “Don’t you fucking dare assume I’m in bed with him. You know damn well I don’t want the Sons in New Brunswick.” He drags a hand down his face. “My guess, he’s been watching you, and now he thinks you’re cornered. He probably thinks you don’t have another option.”
I scoff. “Fucking idiot.”
“Hm.” Donnie studies me for a moment. “Better for me if you talk to him in here so I don’t have to clean up after you.”
“Fuck you,” I snap back. “We both know that’s a clean-up job you’d enjoy.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But you know my ass is on the line either way. If John finds out I let Becker in, I’ll be the one paying for it.”
“Better hurry up and go get him then,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. “I’m fucking waiting.”
Donnie rolls his eyes, then turns and leaves me alone again in the hollow silence of the block.
What the fuck.
I run a hand through my hair and blow out a breath. Frank fucking Becker.
The heavy sound of boots on concrete grows louder as he approaches, but I don’t move from the bed. He doesn’t get an ounce of fucking respect from me when he thinks he can drag his dirty empire into my town and strong-arm the Basin Kings into bending to him.
“Alder Roy,” Frank says, stopping in front of the bars.
I lean back on my hands and just stare at him.
He smiles, flashing a gold tooth and a scar that splits his lip. He’s about Kurt’s age, but the lines on his face make him look about fifteen years older. Running and probably consuming hard drugs will do that.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” he says smoothly.
I keep my mouth shut, biting down on the words I want to throw at him. That he’s cowardly enough to wait until I’m locked behind bars, where he knows I don’t have a gun in reach.
“You’re probably wondering why I came to you and not Kurt,” he continues, tilting his head slightly as he studies me like some caged animal he’s got on display.
He’s not completely wrong about that.
“Because you saw your chance for safety,” I finally say, unable to hold it in any longer.
“It’s alright, Frank, I know I’ve been a little trigger-happy lately.
You can admit you’re scared.” I tilt my head to mirror his, my gaze sharpening as I watch him watch me.
“But you made a mistake thinking bars between us mean you’re safe. ”
Frank scoffs, but his smile lingers, tugging at his ugly scar. Behind him, Donnie shifts against the wall, bracing himself like he’s waiting for the room to ignite.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Frank says, his smile falling. “I know your club is struggling. Your auctions aren’t what they used to be, and your future doesn’t look kind.” He pauses for a moment. “And I know your only other option is to run guns.”
Everything in me goes still as I stare back at him.
His creepy smile returns. “I have my sources, Alder.”
My eyes flick to Donnie behind him, but he looks just as surprised as I feel as he shoots daggers at the back of Frank’s head.
“And I’m talking to you, not Kurt, because I know you are the one who gets things done.”
“I’m not getting a single fucking thing done for you.” I rise from the bed and step closer to the bars. “You can take your dirty fucking drugs and get the fuck out of our province. We’re not your runners.”
Frank’s gaze is steady as he slowly nods. “So what’s your plan then? You’ve got that Porsche sitting on ice, waiting for the heat to die down. And I know you’re eyeing a few cars south of the border, ready to move on them.”
My fists tighten, and my insides burn with anger. How the fuck does he know that…
He glances briefly at Donnie before turning back to me. “Would be a real shame if another anonymous tip found its way to the sergeant. One that gives him just enough evidence to put you down for good.”
I step into the bars and wrap both hands around them, pulling myself in close to stare directly into his eyes. “Try me, fucker.”
He just shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t need to. You don’t have another plan. If you wanted to run guns, you would have already. Which means the choice is simple. You move our product, or your auctions burn.”
My grip on the bars tightens until my knuckles go white, and his lips twitch.
“You’re a little… tied up right now,” he says, stepping closer. “So why don’t you tell Kurt we’ll meet at the end of the week. We’ll all sit down and make a plan.”
My own smile forms on my lips as I let my grip slide, and drop one arm to hang loose through the bars. “Sure. Come on by. We’ll put a roast in the oven, pop some champagne… and make sure you leave with a bullet in your skull.”
Frank huffs with a shake of his head before turning for the exit. “You know how this ends, Alder. You’ve seen what we’re capable of.”
“And you haven’t seen what I’m capable of,” I say.
He stops and looks over his shoulder. I lift my hand hanging through the bars and curl my fingers into the shape of a gun, aiming it straight at him.
“Bang,” I say with a snap of my wrist, and the promise of the shot I’ll take on him one day.
His chin lifts and his eyes darken. But he turns without a word and walks away.
Well, fuck.